


there is no pete, there is only zuul

by itsforscience



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-10
Updated: 2009-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsforscience/pseuds/itsforscience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>patrick and pete are trapped in a haunted house and it's all pete's fault. of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there is no pete, there is only zuul

**Author's Note:**

> written in '08 for a halloween prompt exchange

"This is your fault," Patrick says to Pete, because it _is_.

Pete takes his hat off and throws it like a frisbee across the room, shakes out his hat hair. "Fuck off, it is not."

"_C'mon, Patrick, it'll be fun_," Patrick mimics him, and pulls the sheet up and off his head, fixes up his own hat.

"Shut up, it's not like I dragged you in here—"

"Yes you did!"

"Well, you could've stopped me, but you were just there, just- lying there on the ground," Pete accuses, taking the white sheet out of Patrick's hands. "Oh, and hey, your sheets ripped. When did that happen?"

"Oh yeah, I don't know. Maybe from when you dragged me by the legs after I fell over."

"Oh, yeah, maybe."

 

*

 

So here's where they are. Pete told Patrick to take him trick-or-treating. Patrick had said no, saying that they were too old for that now. Pete had begged and whined and stole Patrick's hat. Patrick punched him, then felt guilty about it and took Pete trick-or-treating. Pete dressed like Zorro. Which-

("I can't believe you're going as Zorro, so lame," Patrick said.

"This from the guy wearing a bed sheet as a ghost costume."

"Hey! It was short notice.")

So, yeah Patrick dressed like a ghost; complete with a sheet with two holes poked in it. Also he is still wearing his hat underneath.

("Patrick, you know the whole ghost costume thing doesn't work so much when I can see the shape of your cap under it, right?"

"Well, maybe I'm a duck ghost," Patrick said, trying to put the holes over where his eyes could see through.

Pete inhaled a comeback but nothing came out. "Oh yeah.")

So, all in all it was going okay until they walked past the creepy, tall, abandoned house that no one ever went to because it was said to be haunted. Pete got excited and wanted to go inside and tell scary stories because that was _so_ Halloween. Patrick said no, a lot. Then Pete started tugging him towards the house and Patrick had tried to make a run for it. But he tripped over his own costume ("I _knew_ the sheet was too big") and Pete dragged him inside. Though, later, they couldn't get out. Turns out rusty doors aren't so easy to open when the doorknob falls off.

 

*

 

And that would lead us back to now.

"This is your fault," Patrick repeats for the millionth time.

Pete sighs and takes his mask off. "I know it's my fault, okay Trick? I know. I'm sorry," He says sounding exasperated and guilt ridden.

And, okay, now Patrick feels bad. Because he should've known better, because he knows Pete beats himself up over things more than he should. And he knows he just wanted them to have fun and do something different this year.

So Patrick tries apologizing, and it's always so awkward, he feels stupid, and flustered, and. "Pete, no I- um. I didn't mean to- you know. I don't want you to think that..." He ends on a sigh, frustrated. Well. That was _almost_ a sentence.

"Shut up," Pete says, but he's starting to smile a little just the same. Which means that Patrick is forgiven.

Pete's smile broadens, and Patrick can't help but smile back, something happy and bright- and Pete won't ever tell him, but he kind of thinks of it as _his_ smile.

They sit for a while, only getting up to check the windows again because maybe, just _maybe_, they've magically stopped being nailed shut.

 

Pete sits close to Patrick on the floor. After a while they end up lying down, facing each other, and Pete sneaks his hands into Patrick's back pockets. Like, he actually makes the effort to slide a hand under Patrick just so he can get his hand in the other pocket. And that's okay, that's normal, that's what Pete does to everybody. Plus, with Patrick being his best friend he _gets_ that more than anybody. Just. It doesn't stop his heart from beating too fast and too loud every time. And it might sound stupid but that's how it _feels_.

Patrick's gotten used to making himself not freeze up at the random affection, forces himself to relax. But Pete- he's just comfortable no matter what. It's second nature to him. And maybe it wouldn't be so hard on Patrick if it was just that to him, if it didn't mean... more.

"Hey, Trick," Pete says, and Patrick feels warm breath on his face, it smells like candy. And, oh yeah, maybe they shouldn't have eaten it all before because what if they're stuck in here forever without food? And he is starting to get kind of hungry, and what if—

Pete squeezes his _ass_ through the pockets and Patrick gasps sharply, feels almost lightheaded from the sudden blood rush. But Pete just smiles at him, big and dorky, because it was just a reminder for him to answer. The bastard.

"Uh- um, y-yeah, Pete?" Patrick stammers.

Pete keeps smiling, amused, Patrick doesn't bother to fight off the blush. "I was just gonna ask you if you wanted a piece of chocolate, I saved one from before."

"Oh, cool, okay." It's not like it'll fill him up or anything, but, you know, _chocolate_. You don't say no to chocolate. "So, can I- are you- can I have it?"

Pete laughs, low and throaty, nuzzles into Patrick's neck. "It's in my front pocket," He tells him, his voice teasing, Patrick can tell even though it's muffled. "If you want it you're gonna have to get it."

And, okay, that's fine. It's cool, that's just Pete being Pete, being an asshole for kicks because he's bored and Patrick's easy. Only, that doesn't stop the _want_, or his heart speeding up even more. And with Pete's lips pressed right against his pulse it has to be a dead giveaway. Patrick just hopes that Pete takes it for his general _Patrick_-ness and that maybe he'll move away.

But Pete doesn't, just stays right where he is. He even pulls him closer and slips one hand out of his back pocket to take one of Patrick's by the wrist, starts to move it down.

And it's slow, so slow. It's one of those moments where you have a sense for every movement. It's also confusing, because Patrick doesn't know if this is still just a game or not. He can't tell, and that's probably the scariest part.

His hand is getting lower, being brought slowly to Pete's hip. He doesn't know what to do or say, if this is just something that happens or if they should've talked about it before, or if it's like gay chicken- see who backs out first.

He stops thinking when he feels Pete's mouth open over his skin, his brain melting down to a litany of _hotwetneedpete_. He'll mentally kick himself for that later.

But right now his hand is so close, and Pete is so _good_ at what he's doing with his mouth, and—  
Somewhere a door slams and they break apart, scrambling to sit up.

So, that was fun while it lasted. Oh, and Patrick didn't squeak. That was probably a mouse, and that actually, really doesn't make anything better.

"What the fuck was that?" Pete swears, standing up

"Door slam?" Patrick suggests.

"Yeah, but what slammed it?" Pete isn't looking at him as he talks, which- Patrick doesn't know how to take that.

"Um, probably the wind or something," Patrick says, he feels a little breathless, and cold. Mostly where Pete's body was keeping him warm, where his hands were pressed on him, where his lips...

"I'm gonna look around, see where that came from. You stay here," Pete orders him, still not looking at Patrick.

And that- no, none of that is okay. "What? _No_, Pete—"

"Stay here. I'll be right back." Pete walks out of the room.

Patrick sighs, slumps back against the wall. He feels confused, and stupid, and embarrassed, and- also a little hard maybe, but mostly stupid.

He is also not okay with this plan, this is a _sucky_ plan and he isn't happy about it _at all_. He just wants to go home, and not be here, and not have any of what just happened- _happen_.

 

Pete left him alone, and the house is dark, and the squeaking noises? Have multiplied. Patrick brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around himself, head resting on his knees, when he hears Pete _scream_, and the sound of glass breaking.

Patrick gets up so fast he almost falls over, but he keeps running to where he saw Pete walk away.

"Pete!" He starts yelling. "Where are you? What the fuck happened? _Pete_?"

Patrick pauses at a doorway, when he focuses on the moonlit room he can tell it's the kitchen.

He takes a step forward and feels glass crunch under his feet. Looks down- mind racing with nothing but, _Shit, shit, shit, shit, Pete..._

"Pete?" He calls out again, "Pete, are you here? _Pe-_ Aaaah!" He jumps when something grabs him around the waist. That split second of fear, and then he hears the laughter.

And, oh, okay. So Patrick will leave this house alive. Pete, not so much.

"Oh my _God_, Stump, you, you-" Pete breaks off into laughter again. Patrick shoves him back but Pete keeps trying to grasp onto him, having his hands slapped away. The bastard just keeps laughing, trying to _hug_ him and, no. Patrick wants to _kill him dead_.

But he's been trying to control his anger lately, so instead he counts up to 10 in his head.

Clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, he manages to break all his anger down to just rolling his eyes and walking away, past Pete and into the other room.

Pete grins harder from behind him and jumps on Patrick's back. "Aww c'mon, Trick, it was funny. Your _face_," He says, trying-but-_not_-trying not to laugh. It makes sense when you see it.

Patrick just grits his teeth- because angry-red is better than blushing-red. "Fuck you, it wasn't even that funny, it was _lame_. You're an asshole."

Somehow, he manages to pry Pete off his back and take a few steps away from him. And maybe he's not really as angry about the joke as he is about what it means, like he knows it's just Pete's way of getting over... certain moments, his way of saying 'never happened'.

"Patrick, c'mon, it wasn't even that bad. Remember the time I dragged you into a haunted house? That was pretty bad."

Patrick just squeezes his eyes shut, because --_If that's the way he wants it_\-- "I don't like you," he says too softly, reaches out to smack Pete upside the head to cover for it.

Pete lets out sort of a- a _giggle_. "Patri—"

The grandfather clock in the other room chimes, loud and shaking, and the ground starts to rumble like low thunder beneath the floorboards.

Patrick looks up at Pete, eyes wide. "Earthquake?" He asks, feeling the vibration hum through him.

"I don't know, man," Pete says, "c'mon." He grabs Patrick's arm and starts running through the house. The ground shakes harder when they start moving, violent roars echoing under their feet. Patrick lets Pete lead him around, doesn't complain about some of Pete's sharp changes in direction.

The furniture starts toppling over; chairs, lamps, some dusty pictures on the wall. Patrick hears the sound of more glass shattering in the kitchen, the ground still quaking violently as they try to move without falling.

"Pete? What the fuck is happe- What are you _doing_?" Pete is trying to pull him up the stairs. "Stop, stop, stop," Patrick shouts, pulling him back. "Come on, we've gotta get the fuck out of here!"

\--That's when everything stops, the shaking, the sound of furniture cracking and glass breaking- everything. Everything except the reverberating sound of Patrick's voice filling the air.

Then it's just silence, still and calm. Patrick looks around, and it seems- it's like nothing happened. The chairs and vases he _swears_ he saw fall and break are back to where they originally were, no sign of debris anywhere.

"What..." He trails off. Pete lets go of his sleeve and takes a step forward.

Patrick watches the back of his head, Pete's back straightens and his head starts turning, looking around. He seems lost somehow - not in the way of not knowing where he is because _neither_ of them have been inside this place before - but he just seems distant, looking around slow and blankly.

"Pete? You okay, man?" Patrick asks slowly, because what the _fuck_.

"Pete?"

"Patrick," Pete says it without looking at him- instead he brings up his own hands and just _stares_.

And, okay, Patrick is really freaked out now, and scared, and wants to go _home_, and he doesn't know if Pete's being seriously weird right now or not and if not Patrick is going to _kick his fucking ass so bad_. "Pete, seriously, if you're trying to freak me out again, _don't_. I'm not in the mood for this shit." He puts a hand on Pete's shoulder. Pete jolts like he was asleep.

"Wha... _what_? ...Patrick?" Pete turns, stares at him like he's never seen him before.

"Okay. What the fuck."

"I don't... Patrick, hey, hey Patrick, we're. I'm here, with you?" Pete asks dazedly.

"Um, what?" Patrick looks at him, watches as Pete wobbles a little- unbalanced. "Pete? What's wrong with you?"

"Patrick," Pete says faintly, "Patrick, I feel dizzy. I think'm gonna go sit... over there." He points to a dusty old couch.

"Oh, um, okay, Pete." Patrick is very confused, and very worried, but leads Pete to sit down.

Pete slumps like he just took his meds, which, hey. "Did you take your meds sometime while we were here?"

Pete stares at him like he's crazy, then seems to realize something and shakes his head. "N-no, don't have 'em." But he's still swaying a little drowsily.

Patrick doesn't know what to think. He stares down at Pete, his Zorro costume isn't much without the hat and the mask, and he looks pretty stupid with the cape on. But, then again, Pete had tied Patrick's 'ghost costume' around his neck so he has a cape too. He can't judge.

"Patrick come- come sit. Here. Sit with me," Pete says, barely lifting his hand to beckon Patrick over.

Against his brain screaming, _Dirty, filthy, old couch with cockroaches and spiders and other bugs you don't know about on it!_' He sits down next to Pete. Even ignores the chill up his spine when _something_ crawls over his hand. Let it be known that Patrick Stump is a dedicated friend that goes above and beyond the call of duty everyday. Because his best friend is Pete Wentz.

Pete dips to his side, Patrick lets him curl under his arm and breathe on his neck. He strokes Pete's shoulder and pulls him in closer, resting his cheek on his head.

"...Trick," Pete says, moving his head up to look at Patrick. "You're my favorite."

"Pete- mmphh."

Pete's lips are cold, and he's shivering. Patrick tries to shove him away, but Pete's got his wrists and, Jesus, his hands are cold too.

Pete gets onto his lap, straddling his legs, rubbing a hand on Patrick's _crotch_ and he won't let up no matter how much Patrick tries to move away, push him back. And, yeah, kissing Pete isn't new but _this_ kind is really new, and so is what Pete's hand is doing. And it's weird, and so not what Patrick wanted for their first time - _on a dirty, filthy, old couch in a dirty, filthy, old house _\- that is if there was ever going to be a first time. Though, that's probably not a question anymore.

Patrick finally manages to shoves Pete away, hard, causing him to fall back on the floor.

"What the hell are you _doing_?" Patrick yells as he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and pulling up his now open fly.

"_Paaatrick_!"

Pete yells, echoic and stretched out and distant, and- it's not from this Pete, the one staring up at him from the ground hasn't said a thing- the voice is coming from upstairs.

Patrick knows his eyes probably look like they're gonna fall out of his head, and he feels completely justified about that, because _what_?

He looks quickly from between the Pete in front of him and up to where the Pete voice is coming from. He could not _be_ more confused.

"_Paaatrick, help_!" The voice calls again, and, okay, the Pete in front of him is sort of hunched over himself sitting there looking pale and sweaty, and Patrick is a _lot_ more than freaked out and doesn't know what the fuck is going on. But he's never been one to ignore a distress call from a Pete - even an invisible one, though this is a first - so after a few more glances he runs up the stairs.

"_Paaatrick_!"

"I- I'm coming!" He calls, nearly tripping over his feet a few times.

 

The upstairs hallway is long and dark, probably 10 doors on each side. It has paint chipping off the walls, cobwebs, and the floorboards creak at the barest movement. It's like the whole creepy house deal, and Patrick's first thought is, _No fucking way. It's like I got put into a scary movie or something._

He thinks about maybe just going back downstairs, but then the Pete voice calls for him again, and Patrick starts running down the hallway.

 

He stops to open a few doors, screaming in horror right after a fucking_ transparent old man_ walks right through him and fades to nothing. There are really no words.

After a few minutes worth of freak out he manages to start looking again, a little more warily. He just tries to ignore the groans that start to echo in the house along with Pete's voice calling him- he really doesn't need the stress right now.

 

In the fifth room, a Victorian looking women in a painting starts crying and telling him to "leave this evil place"- and that is just, no, that's not cool.

Patrick leaves the room- he didn't say anything to the crying lady in the painting, but he feels a bit bad about it, like maybe he should've said something to cheer her up. But he figures given that her being a lady in a painting crying and all, it was okay for him to run out under the circumstances. He still feels a little guilty though.

 

He walks to a few of the rooms, the groans and cries about "eternal suffering" and "damned forever in this place" aren't things you'd think you could get used to, but hey, who knew?

He's up to maybe the seventh, eighth door? When he's stopped in the middle of the hallway by an arm wrapped around his waist. Patrick doesn't know what to do- none of the other ghosts actually touched him. He just stands frozen in shock, freaked the fuck out and that is _not_ a hand running up and down his back, it's _not_.

"Trick," a familiar voice whispers coolly in his ear, "where'd you go?"

Patrick actually makes a disgusted, creeped out face and his body shivers, like when you eat a sour lemon or something. "Eeeugh, _God_, so creepy."

He turns around and there's Pete, well- really pale, really cold Pete. Also, really creepy. This Pete just looks at him blankly, says, "S'the matter, Trick? You look like you've seen a ghost."

And okay, if this _were_ a scary movie he was actually watching with Pete, Patrick would probably have thrown popcorn at the screen and said, "Boo". But this was _not_ a scary movie, and this was actually Pete, looking pale and soulless - if that has a look - and really sickly and reminding Patrick of this skeevy, old guy that hit on him once at the park. So the line actually works in favor of creeping Patrick even more the fuck out.

Also he doesn't have popcorn to throw.

"Patrick," The probably-not-Pete whispers, eyes empty looking even as he smiles. "You're my favorite."

Patrick would really love for him to not say that, because it just adds to the creepy factor.

"_Paaatrick_..." The Pete-voice calls again, his queue to leave.

Patrick pushes probably-not-Pete out of the way easily enough, pausing to shiver again and say, "Eeeeugh," one more time before he takes off to follow his name.

He runs down the hallway, then stops in front of a door that he thinks it's coming from but all he sees is an old lady sitting in a rocking chair. And, oh great, she's another _ghost. _

And you can sort of get used to the groans - they're almost like really evil sounding background music - but ghosts? No, Patrick has not gotten used to that yet.

So he slams the door and runs. He didn't scream. More importantly, he didn't scream like a girl.

"_Heeelp,_" the Pete-voice calls, a little more distant now. _"Patrick... need you_..."

"I know," Patrick answers weakly. He stops, lowers his head and rubs at his face.

What's he supposed to do? This isn't him- he's not used to the whole trying to be the hero thing. He hates this. He hates feeling like he doesn't know what to do, what he _can_ do even if he finds where the voice is coming from. He just wants Pete back, because he would at least make up something and _act_ like he knew what the fuck he was doing.

Patrick heaves a sigh and lifts his head. _This sucks,_ he thinks, and starts walking again. He can't stop, has to find Pete and—

"_Heeelp_..."

Wait, that call sounded a lot closer.

Patrick lifts his head to peer up at the ceiling. He ran down this way before, but he didn't look up. Didn't see the attic hatch.

The ladder is already pulled down, and he's definitely sure he didn't see it before, how the hell could he have missed it- was it even there?

Well, never mind. That's not really the strangest thing to happen tonight. Patrick starts climbing up- the voice definitely gets stronger.

He's almost in when he feels cold hands wrap around his knee, pulling him down.

"Fucking- _no_, what the _fuck_?" He exclaims, trying to shake not-Pete off.

"You don't wanna go up there, Patrick," He says, smirking. "It's no fun up there."

Patrick glares down at him, still trying to shake him loose, he takes in how sick this Pete looks, like he's feverish.

And Patrick can't be sure of what's happening at all, doesn't know for sure that this isn't really Pete- he's just working off instinct, off what he knows. And he knows that Pete is never like _this_.

"Let _go_!" Patrick kicks hard, not caring if he hurts him and tries to climb up as quickly as he can.

Pete follows him inside.

And then a few things happen all at once:

The Pete voice stops calling, something slammed, the light goes out to pitch black, and Patrick gets tackled to the floor by the not-Pete.

Only after a few minutes of squirming and kicking and saying- "_Get off me!_" does Patrick realize that the not-Pete isn't moving, which is a lot less comforting because now there is _no_ Pete and any Pete was more comforting than none at all. So.

"Not-Pete? Hey, hey, wake up, you okay?" _Man down! Man down!_ Patrick starts slapping Pete's face, or what he can reach, like his chin and forehead.

Nothing, and he's still lying right on top of Patrick too, legs heavy and trapping around Patrick's hips, his cold face pressed between his neck and shoulder.

And now Patrick is imagining his brain people freaking out, the little dudes that ran his head like a factory all running around and processing horror movie information for him to freak out over, like- _"He was a zombie!"_ and _"Pete is dead and you're supposed to battle the evil ghost that lives in this house in order to set his soul free!"_

So, maybe Patrick doesn't really know how to deal with grief. And maybe he's been watching too many horror movies with Gerard.

Then Pete stirs and Patrick imagines his brain people giving an all around sigh.

"Pa...Patrick," Pete says, his voice sounds low and gravely, like when he's just woken up in the morning.

"Pete? Dude, you okay? Are you _you_?" Patrick asks, his arms coming up to squeeze at Pete's shoulders, shaking him a little.

"What? Am I me? What are you...?" Pete lifts his head and looks around, then realizes there's no light and decides on looking in the general direction of where Patrick's face should be. "What's going on?"

"You tell me," Patrick says, then timidly asks, "But seriously, were you you the whole time? Are you you _now_? And before when you- when you tried to..."

Pete gives him a weird look in answer but remembers that it's dark and Patrick can't actually _see_ it. So he pokes him hard and squirms a little.

"I- uh, well yeah, I was me... if you wanna bring that up now. Um. I still got the chocolate since you didn't get—"

"No! No, not that time. I was, um, pretty sure that was you. Just. After. When there was like that weird earthquake thing and you tried to... with me..."

Pete quirks an eyebrow, but again, Patrick can't see that, so. "I tried what with you?"

Patrick doesn't answer and Pete can't hear him breathing. And that's- he doesn't _really_ get it, but he does. In some way, he does.

"Oh," he says, mirroring Patrick's hold on him and grabbing at his arms. "Oh, hey, Patrick, that wasn't- I wasn't..." Pete moves in closer, can feel Patrick's shaky breath on his face. "What did I do?"

Patrick doesn't feel disappointed. He doesn't. He knew that something was wrong with Pete, he _knew_. Pete wouldn't just _do_ something like that, that's not- well maybe he would but not like that, because he— Of course he wouldn't want to, it wasn't him, he didn't know what he was doing and Patrick knows that. And he doesn't feel disappointed.

"Patrick," Pete says softly.

Patrick shakes his head, about to answer with _something_ but the room suddenly lights up a little and, wow, Pete is too close. Patrick tries to move out from under him a little.

He's about to say something again when _again_ he gets cut off, this time by distant moans talking about "death" and "getting out before it's too late" and at this point Patrick is so unimpressed because he is _sick_ of ghosts and their bad timing and their stupid creepiness. Only, Pete is apparently a lot impressed and scared and is now clinging to Patrick with a death grip.

"You're hurting me," Patrick chokes.

"Did you hear that? The fuck _was_ that?"

"Ghosts. They've been doing that all night, it's been driving me _crazy_."

Maybe it's because Patrick sounded annoyed and not scared that Pete slaps him. This leads to Patrick slapping him back. Which leads to them now rolling around on the floor trying to hit each other.

They do this for a while, until Patrick thinks, _Hey, why haven't we been trying to get the fuck out of here?_ He shoves Pete back, making him roll a few inches away.

Patrick gets up, kicking at Pete trying to pull him back down by the ankles. "No, _no_, hey, stop, you wanna get out of here or what?" Patrick asks and Pete stops, looks up at him for a moment then gets up, too.

Patrick walks over to the hatch, trying to open it but nothing happens. Pete smirks and walks over all- _"Don't worry, I'll handle this, Patrick,"_ and can't open it either. And he's trying harder too.

They try for about 10 minutes, but after a while they admit defeat and huddle up close, using their costumes as blankets because the attic is _cold_.

Also they get bored and start playing 20 questions.

"Am I on television?" Pete asks, laying half on Patrick and half next to him.

"Not currently, no," Patrick answers, looking up at the ceiling. They're both ignoring the moans that have been echoing in the background for the past 3 hours. It's really not so bad once you get used to it. And if you try, you can almost imagine it's people having sex, at least that's what Pete's thinking.

But then, oh right, questions. "Was I on a talk show?"

"Um, does it count if you've been interviewed?" Patrick asks, pulling his "ghost costume" up higher.

"Dude, you can't ask me questions."

"Oh."

"_Leave this place or perish_." A female groan echoes, and that is _it_.

"Oh my God, just shut the fuck up, okay?" Patrick snaps. "I'm sick of hearing the same fucking whine over and over and _over_ again, Jesus—"

A ghost woman with grey hair and tattered, white rags flies up from the floor and starts screaming in Patrick's face for a few seconds, and then recedes back down into the floor.

A few seconds after that and Patrick starts screaming. And then Pete screams, because _well_.

Patrick is gasping and panting, close to tears because _what the fuck_. So he may not have noticed how quickly his hand had latched onto Pete's while he was being scarred for life. But Pete did. Is quite happy to hold on tightly and pull Patrick into him, rubs up and down his back with his other hand to try and calm him down.

"Pete, _Pete_," Patrick says, sounding close to tears.

"It's okay, Trick," Pete says soothingly, "you can cry if you want to."

"_Cry_?" Patrick lifts his head. "Are you _kidding me_? What I want is to get the fuck out!"

"Well, what the fuck do you want _me_ to do? Like, I don't have any ideas, dude. _I'm_ the one who got fucking _possessed_ for Christ's sake!"

"Yes, by a gay ghost that tried to molest me," Patrick deadpans.

"By a gay ghost that— What?"

"Um."

"I got possessed by a gay ghost?"

"Well, maybe it wasn't gay and you were possessed by a female ghost?"

"I tried to molest you? Patrick I—"

"It's, no, it's... okay. I know you wouldn't—" Patrick breaks off, sighs, "I could tell it wasn't you, I know you would never do that."

And Pete may be hearing wrong because even though Patrick is talking about being molested, which is _not_ a good thing, he actually sounds disappointed. And that. If Pete's actually hearing him right, then that's... interesting.

"Trick, do you..." He trails off- because what the fuck is he going to say? _Do you want me to molest you?_ doesn't sound so great.

But, then again, there Patrick goes making Pete feel like he's going crazy (which is possible, because he's trapped in a _haunted house_) and looking hopeful at what Pete was going to say.

Even Patrick's _voice_ perks up as he asks, "Do I what?"

And it's very encouraging... very- it makes Pete feel like he can say it. "Want..."

"Do I want... what?"

And, oh hey, when did their faces start getting this close? "Patrick, do you want—"

"What?" Patrick breathes out the question, and Pete can feel it on his face. Can see how clear and wide Patrick's eyes are, he looks a little lower and sees how red and bitten his lips are from here, sees Patrick's tongue flick out to lick his drying mouth, now shiny and wet and soft and...

And- fuck it.

Pete leans forward, sighing, "Me," as his lips meet Patrick's.

He takes advantage of the fact that Patrick was about to say something- licks into his mouth, running his tongue over Patrick's lips, licking over teeth and tongue.

And Patrick's still himself, still shy and awkward about most types of affection, and _this_ is just above and beyond so Pete gets why Patrick doesn't move a hand up to touch him. He just makes up for it by wrapping an arm around Patrick's waist and threading their fingers together with his other hand. It's enough that Patrick's actually _kissing back_. Pete does not feel guilty that his first thought at that was, _Score!_

They kiss for a while and at some point Patrick ends up on his back, Pete half over him, a leg nudged between his. They don't know if it's minutes or hours, too distracted. Just making out, and so far, it's the most awesome thing _ever_, and Pete is really getting addicted to nibbling on Patrick's lips, his soft, full lips... that neither of them are really paying attention to the fact that they're in a haunted house.

Pete starts kissing away from Patrick's lips, to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his neck...

And there is a loud moan. Only it's not coming from Patrick.

It's not coming from Pete either.

Pete pulls away and looks at Patrick and Patrick looks back, both sets of eyes wide. And then, of course, there is screaming and scrambling to get up and just hiding close together in a corner because, great, one of the ghosts is a pervert.

"_Damn, I wish I was still alive, that was pretty hot,_" The transparent boy - who looks around Patrick's age, wearing an AC/DC shirt and cargo pants - says, his voice wavering a little. And yes, it's weird that he's dressed like that- no, it hasn't gone unnoticed.

Patrick is strangely able not to scream and instead manages, "Um?"

"_You,_" Ghost boy says, pointing at Patrick, "_are still definitely my favorite._"

_Oh_, Patrick thinks, because he gets what that was now. Still, he blushes and mumbles a 'thanks' and a 'but I'm not really all that great so, I don't know'. But Pete is really inclined to agree with ghost boy, and is still really, really confused. "What?" He asks.

"_I'm Eric_," Ghost boy, Eric, says. "_I think I died around here? Like, 6 years ago._"

"Oh, dude, you're that guy!" Pete says excitedly, like he's figured it out, and, well, he probably has. "Oh, dude you're that gay guy that used to live around here and then got... killed... for... it," Pete slows at the end, feeling bad. "Huh. Sorry, man."

"_Shit happens_," Eric says, shrugging.

"Um," Patrick says again, mostly because he wants them to know that he's still part of the conversation.

"So, I'm guessing that you, like, possessed my body to get to Patrick, huh?"

"What?" Patrick exclaims incredulously, and is ignored.

"_Yeah, see, I can't actually have sex anymore since I'm, y'know, dead and all? And he's - well, I guess it's was \- my type and so I got a little excited_," Eric pauses and shrugs again. "_Sorry_."

Patrick repeats himself, "_What_?" And is still ignored.

"So, the whole earthquake thing downstairs was you?" Pete asks.

"_No, that was the others. They don't like you_." Eric turns to smirk at Patrick. "_I like you though_."

Patrick's about to make an embarrassing squeaking noise of some kind when Pete steps in front of him a little, staring defiantly at Eric. "Yeah, no, that's not gonna happen."

Eric laughs, and the wavering echo is really chilling and scary, Patrick clutches Pete's arm. Doesn't see Pete smile.

"_No, don't worry_," Eric says, still laughing. "_I can't really do anything up here anyway._"

Patrick frowns and asks, "Why?" Pete turns to look at him, looking _scandalized_\- he's such a girl. Still, Patrick shakes his head quickly. "No, not because I want- I just- I mean, I want to know- ugh, _Pete_, idiot, stop giving me that look, come here." Patrick pulls Pete into his side. The scandalized look fades. Eventually.

"_Well_," Eric begins, drawing the word out. "_I don't really know why, but for some reason possession just doesn't work up here, s'why I didn't want you to come up._"

Pete nods, rubbing at Patrick's back as he says, "Right, um, so, dude can you, like-"

"-help us get out of here?" Patrick finishes.

"_No_," Eric answers, not smiling or smirking or looking particularly evil in any way.

"Why not?" Patrick asks. "I mean, if you're not planning something evil or—"

"_No_," Eric interrupts. "_No, it's just. You're both gonna have to wait it out until dawn, I can't help you._"

"Why?" Pete asks this time.

Eric sighs, "_Rules. Real textbook stuff, I mean, sure it's a little more lenient on Halloween but you still get the backlash from interfering with the living. I mean, I couldn't even possess his_-" he points at Pete "-_body without getting feverish and all._"

"Oh," Pete and Patrick both say in unison.

Eric shrugs, which they've noticed he does a lot, and starts floating down into the ground, disappearing.

"_So wait it out till dawn, and don't yell at the others to shut up, they hate that. Also it's been a while since someone's been here and they're all just excited so humor them._" He smiles.

"Okay," Pete and Patrick say at the same time again.

Then Patrick pulls away from Pete, says, "Wait, dude, um." Eric pauses, cut off from the waist down by the floor. Patrick continues, "Yeah, so, since you were killed and all? Was there like, some unfinished business? I mean, if- did you want us to, like, punch the guy or guys that did it- 'cause, um, we're not, I know we're not really strong or whatever? But we could try and Pete has friends that would totally—"

Eric laughs, surprised and loud. "_Oh my God, how awesomely cute are you? You're lucky Pete,_" He says, grinning at Patrick who blushes. And- whatever, dude, Pete thinks Eric sounded like a girl just now. "_But, no, it's okay, the guy that was in charge of it is in prison. And, really, I'm not so much here because of unfinished business as I am just because I like it here. I mean, I'm a ghost, I haunt a house, how cool is that?_"

Patrick smiles, the nice one that is all kinds of sweet and irresistible and _Pete's_, and he's not jealous of a ghost, just _no_.

"It was nice to meet you, Eric," Patrick says. And that- Pete knows he imagined the flirtatious note in his voice there. He still wants to yell, _But, he molested you, though!_ But that thought just makes him feel angry.

"_It was really nice to meet you, Patrick_," Eric whispers softly. And, okay, Pete isn't hallucinating _that_.

"_I wish I was alive, I would, Patrick, you're just my—_"

"Okay! Yes, we've had our heartfelt goodbyes. Bye bye, Eric, nice meeting you and all, stay cool, dude, later, bye." And then Pete starts to wrap himself around Patrick. Because that's how it is.

Eric just smiles, the rest of his body disappearing into the floor. "_Bye, Pete_."

And then he's gone. And that's it, really. How anticlimactic.

But now they're alone, Pete turns Patrick to face him. Because _now_\- "Oh yeah, where were we?" Pete asks and leans in, Patrick backs away though and- _what_?

"Dude," Patrick says, hands on Pete's chest, keeping space between them. "Um, I don't really wanna get into that while we're _here_ so, so..."

"So we'll just wait till we get out?"

Patrick sighs with relief. "Exactly, yes, so... this is going to be an outside thing, too?" He asks carefully, unable to hide the hope in his voice.

Pete grins, wide and happy and even happier when he feels Patrick let him come closer again. "Patrick, this is going to be an _everywhere_ thing. Meaning so many displays of public affection my _dog_ will be uncomfortable. Be happy that I'm going to be nice and hold back a little in front of your mom."

Patrick laughs, pulls away only to slip down to the floor. And even then his hand is still locked with Pete's. "Okay, and you're gonna hold back here too?"

"If that's what you want, but," Pete pauses and crouches down till he's sitting on the floor next to Patrick. "Dude, I don't wanna sound like a chick or anything, but can we cuddle?"

Patrick snorts and mumbles, "Oh, yeah, you totally don't sound like a chick." But even as he says it he's pulling Pete closer, making him lie down and press close to him. He feels around for Pete's cape and his sheet, pulling both over them and snuggling in close.

"And, Trick?" Pete asks softly, like they need to keep their voices down. "Patrick, can I..." He leans forward and starts kissing Patrick's cheek and his neck and back up until he's kissing his lips. Not deep, but gentle, it's just something nice, just 'cause he can.

When he pulls away he sees Patrick smiling at him, and it's _his_ smile, now really officially _his_. And then Patrick leans forward and presses that smile onto his own lips, is actually kissing _Pete_ and that is so- from Patrick- that just means so much more.

There are still groans and cries of terror echoing in the house, moans of despair and no hope. But Pete and Patrick just let the ghosts go on, let them have their fun. Because finally being able to do this is distracting, almost enough to make them forget about everything else.

And they can stay like this till dawn- they can make it this way. They can like this, and not even think about it.

 

 

  
_(A year later)_   


 

"_Patrick_! Come _on_, you are a boy! Boys do not take this long to get ready, what the fuck is up?" Pete calls up the stairs.

"This from the guy who has to wear eyeliner _everywhere_," Patrick shouts back. "You ruined my sharpeners!"

"Hey, they were sacrificed for a good cause," Pete argues, smiling. "Don't you want me to look good? It's all for you, Tricky." He's silent for a beat, but Patrick knows it won't last.

3... 2... "Seriously, Stump! Your ass! It needs to be down here- the rest of you doesn't but your ass does or we're going to miss the party, dude, and that's not cool. Because I like your ass, and I like parties, and I like my costume and the joy it brings to the human eye needs to be shared with the world so hurry the fuck—"

"What the fuck are you talking about- my _ass_?" Seriously, what?

"I don't know, I was in the moment," Pete calls back, and yeah. Figures. "Hey, Trick, seriously though, you got your dick caught in your costume or something, or what? We're running out of time, Stumpy, so hurry up, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry—"

"Jesus, Pete do you _ever_ shut up?" Patrick yells, and it's partially real curiosity. Because _does he_?

When Pete answers, Patrick can _hear_ his smile. "Just on holidays, Trickster."

Patrick starts walking down, saying, "So why aren't you shutting up now?"

Pete smiles wider when he sees him, starts walking up the stairs, meeting Patrick halfway. "I don't really think of Halloween so much as a holiday as it is an _event of wonders_."

Patrick laughs. "Oh God, I didn't know Peter Pan wore eyeliner."

"Eh, he wanted to keep with the times, you know?" Pete leans forward and just lets their lips touch, eyes smiling into Patrick's as he says, "Happy anniversary."

Patrick smiles - _Pete's_ fucking smile, okay? - and closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss. His hat pokes Pete in the eye though.

"Ow! Fucking- _ow_!" Pete pulls away and rubs at his eye. "_Ow._"

"Shit, Pete, you okay? Did it poke you hard?" Patrick asks, wide-eyed and concerned, trying to push Pete's hand out of the way. "C'mon, let me see."

"No, no, don't touch it—"

"Why the _fuck_ would I touch your eye?"

Good point, Pete lets his hand slip, but doesn't stop squinting his eye. "It hurts, I think this counts as spousal abuse, I don't know. Let me use your computer to check."

"Shut up," Patrick says gently. Pete lets him stroke his cheek a little, because that's nice. Even starts to open his eye, watery as it is. He glares at Patrick's hat, says, "Know what? No hats this year. The hat comes _off_." And he starts making grabby hands.

Patrick's hands shoot up to his head, holding the tri-cornered hat tightly down. He did it so fast Pete didn't even see his hands move.

Pete maybe makes some annoyed noises but doesn't do anything, because, it's true the hat sort of makes the costume this year. He shouldn't have convinced Patrick to go as a Pirate, but he wouldn't go as Wendy so- compromise. But it sort of matches his Peter Pan costume in a way, so...

"But you're okay now, right?" Patrick asks, hands still gripping the pirate hat. Pete's still glaring at it a little, but he can hear the concern in Patrick's voice. He lets it go.

"Yeah, come on, we should go now or Gerard's going to be pissed," Pete says while walking down to the front door. "Mikey called earlier, said everyone was sick of Gerard making them turn out the lights and jump behind the sofa every time a late guest showed up, so. When we go in expect everyone to yell 'Frankie' at you."

Patrick nods. "Sure, of course."

They walk down to the car, Pete holds Patrick's door open, says, "Ladies first." And Patrick tells him that he's an idiot and that he's using that wrong but shuts up when Pete starts making out with him against the car.

After a few minutes and Patrick's small, barely there protests of, "We're going to be late...er," Pete lets him go, saying, "Whatever, s'long as you get that the point was you're the bitch."

 

They've been driving for maybe 10 minutes when Pete sees some familiar faces on a familiar street. "Yo, Patrick, dude," He pokes at Patrick. "Look, look." Pete starts pulling over to the side of the road.

"What," Patrick asks, "why are you stopping?" Pete just nudges until Patrick looks to where he's pointing.

And, sure enough, there's Brendon dragging Ryan into _the_ house. And he just fell over, and took Ryan down with him. But, oh, no, that's not stopping him he is now _crawling_ his way into the house. Persistent.

Actually, now Brendon doesn't even have to drag Ryan in, he's just following, looking unwillingly amused.

Patrick blinks, has a sudden flash of déjà-vu and- "Wait- Pete, we can't, they're gonna—"

Pete laughs, too giddy, too much like he has an evil plan for world domination or something. "Patrick c'mon, dude. They are entering _The Haunted House of Love_. We have to share our relationship secrets with our friends. I don't wanna be selfish about that shit."

Patrick tries to keep a serious face, but Pete's an idiot so it's hard. "You're an idiot, but." Patrick leans forward, resting his forearms on the dashboard, thinking out loud, "I guess you're right, since we didn't even discuss the whole transition from best friends into _this_ like we probably should've. But it worked out, I think."

Pete grins. "Yeah, see? We are the perfect example for how to maintain a long lasting relationship."

"...Because of a haunted house..."

"_The_ Haunted House of Love."

"Right."

"Capital letters, Patrick, okay?"

They sit silently for a while, watching the door close behind Ryan and Brendon.

After a few minutes, the door starts shaking and you can actually kind of make out the yelling coming from inside. Which would mean they're officially trapped.

Patrick bites his lip, smiling a little deviously when he glances sideways at Pete. Which kind of makes Pete lose his breath for a second, because he will never get over the fact that it's _Patrick _.

Patrick just laughs and leans back into his seat, smiling like he has no idea what it does to Pete- because actually, he _doesn't_ and that's sort of awesome in and of itself. When Pete starts paying attention, he hears him say, "So, we're ditching Ryan and Brendon at an abandoned, crumbling, haunted, old house so they can learn a lesson about love." Not a question.

Pete's smile broadens. "Exactly."

"Okay," Patrick says nodding a little, then laughs out, "But what if we just got lucky and they die?"

Pete thinks about this, he really does, for at _least_ a second. "Um, nah, we shouldn't think about bad things like that."

"But—"

"I love you, Patrick," He announces. And he knows he's already won this, knows Patrick doesn't need anymore convincing- he just likes saying it.

Patrick actually giggles, shaking his head and says, "I love you too, Pete."

Pete debates a little with himself over whether he should lean over and kiss Patrick now or wait until they're at the party or- oh, no, that's okay, Patrick's kissing him, problem solved.

Once it's over he opens the window and yells out triumphantly, "To the Halloween/Birthday/Anniversary party!"

Patrick pumps his fist in the air, mimicking Pete's enthusiasm. "To the- what you said!"

And they drive off.

 

*

 

"Okay, shit. Where the hell are you?" Brendon asks quietly. He's been looking all over and he can't find Ryan anywhere, not since he left trying to find another way out.

Brendon keeps walking, keeps calling out through the house. And sure it was his idea to come in, but he didn't know they would get fucking trapped- they have a party to go to and it's really fucking creepy in here.

He feels a cold hand on his shoulder and he jumps, spins around so fast he's almost dizzy. He lets out a nervous laugh when he sees it's just Ryan. "Shit, you scared me. Where were you?"

Ryan shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips, he sways forward a little. Brendon stares at him, eyebrow raised, and then he notices how pale and sweaty he is. Ryan sways again and Brendon reaches out to catch him.

"You okay? –Fuck, you're freezing, come here," Brendon says and pulls Ryan into a hug, rubbing up and down his arms. And it's weird because he's not getting any warmer, the chill in his skin giving Brendon goose bumps.

It gets even weirder when Ryan presses a kiss to his neck, hands clawing at Brendon's back, going lower.

"R...Ryan?"

"Brendon," Ryan whispers, his breath too cool on his neck. "You're my favorite."

"Um."


End file.
